Another Dusting

Another dusting of snow has hit the neighborhood.  Not sure why, but it inspires me to read poetry.  I know right, spring snow = poetry.  What’s up with that?  Maybe it’s holding on to the still, before spring in ernest pulls me back outdoors.  Yes, I struggle with productivity once the warm weather hits.  I want to get on my bike and travel down route 77 to where the air turns thick with the ocean air or sit on the beach with a book, digging my feat in the warm sand.

I’ve always admired poets.  I noticed that once again last Saturday.  I was facilitating a writing group at the library.  There were many poets in the room.  These writers created an image using sparse language in a way that I never can.  I can’t help it, I’m wordy.

I’m hoping that by reading more poetry, I can learn to edit myself.  To turn my prose into something simpler, more precise. We’ll see if it works!

TO SPRING

by: William Blake (1757-1827)

    • THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down
      Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
      Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
      Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
      The hills tell one another, and the listening
      Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
      Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
      And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
      Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
      Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
      Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
      Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
      O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
      Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
      Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
      Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee
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About julietruekingsley

Crazed writer living on the coast of Maine! Attempting to blog daily in fifteen minutes or less.
This entry was posted in Maine, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Another Dusting

  1. Mary Jane Rowan says:

    Poetry will do it every time!

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